Her first customer pulled to the sidewalk around 2130. Smiling and waving at lone male motorists, a couple of cars made u-turns and drove past her a second time, but none had stopped. Stacy welcomed some action.
She sauntered to the passenger side of a four-door Honda Accord and bent down sideways on the window ledge to allow the trick to check out her cleavage and ass at the same time. He was Latino, mid-thirties, unshaven, and otherwise unremarkable. "Hey Big Boy. Whatchu' doin' tonight?"
He tried to be nonchalant, but the trick’s death grip on the steering wheel gave away his nervousness. "Nothing. How about you?"
"I'm just chillin' baby. It's a nice night for some fun, if you know what I mean."
The Human Trafficking team called these types of exchanges "word games." The goal was to encourage the target to make the first mention of sex, so he couldn't claim entrapment later. In the meantime, Stacy would engage in small talk and flirtation.
"Yeah it is. You working?"
"I am. Whatchu want?"
"Thinking about trying to get a date with you."
"Oooh, that sounds nice, baby." Stacy licked her upper lip, allowing her tongue to linger for a minute, while the trick gulped.
"How much do you charge?"
"Depends on what you want big boy."
"Man, I just want to fuck."
Stacy laughed. "I like a man who gets to the point. Sex is gonna cost you two-fifty, but it's worth every penny."
"Two-fifty? The going rate's like a hundred out here."
All the undercovers competed, the decoys for real money, and the safety officers for street change as they posed as beggars. What they didn’t book into evidence, they donated to the Friederich’s Ataxia Research Alliance, a personal charity for one of the officers. As much as it hurt to admit, Stacy made more posing as a sex worker than she did from her hourly salary.
As she stared at the middle-aged man who drove a poorly maintained Accord, she doubted he would pay much more than one-fifty. "Baby, do you think I'm some hundred-dollar whore?"
She tried wearing a wire once, but it was impossible to pick up the john’s side of the conversation with the noise from passing cars, idling engines and car radios. Plus, now the detective could adjust her bra, and show off even more cleavage, as the trick's tongue nearly popped out of his mouth. "How much for head?"
"One-fifty. Look baby, I'll give you a sloppy blowjob and the best fuck of your life for one seventy-five. See that market? There's an ATM inside. Walk in, buy me a water, and get some money. Can you do that baby?"
He paused, considering. Stacy was a sexpot. "Yeah, that works. Will you wait for me?"
"Of course, I will, baby. I'll be standing right next to those concrete barriers. You ain't a cop, are you sweetie?"
It was urban legend that police were obligated to reveal themselves when asked, but the johns liked hearing it and the question added a level of authenticity to the operation.
"Nah, I'm not a cop. Are you?"
"Do I look like the police, baby?"
"Nah, you look too good to be a cop."
"Ahh, you're sweet. Now go get that money. It's cold out here, and I can't wait forever for what's inside of those pants."
Stacy peered down at the trick's crotch, causing him to blush. She strolled towards the concrete barrier as he drove to the market, then walked to the meeting point. Moments later the john pulled up besides her. The team was still about thirty seconds away, so she took her time. "Hey Papi, did you get my water?"
The man handed her a bottle of water. She took a long sip of it. "Thanks baby."
"Anything for you. Damn, you're fine."
"I like the compliments. So, what's up?"
"I could only withdraw one-forty."
"Pass it here.” So irritating.
He counted out seven twenties and passed the money to her through his open window. So busy watching her, he never saw the police officers surround his car.
"Baby, next time you want to catch a date, jump on Tinder. And don’t be so damn cheap." Stacy walked away as the take-down team pulled out their badges, identified themselves as LAPD, removed the suspect from his vehicle, cuffed and searched him, then hustled the soon-to-be-defendant off to the waiting van, all in less than two minutes. It was surgical.
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